


Strawberries are not the only fruit

by BeBunny



Series: Cave Clan verse [1]
Category: Bandom
Genre: F/M, M/M, caveman AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-22
Updated: 2012-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-29 22:44:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/324995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeBunny/pseuds/BeBunny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Caveman AU in which Bob is trying to repay the kindness Mikey's clan have shown him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Bandom BigBang 2011

The sun crept across the plains like the welling of the incoming tide. Little by little the grasslands tinted first pink, then yellow, then green and white as dawn broke. From his vantage point, perched on the hillside Ray could see almost as far as the delta, where the river joined the sea in deep trenches of rich but treacherous black mud. 

On the slope below him, two figures grappled bodily with the carcass of a young elk, voices raised and clearly struggling. The larger of the two, was lost in swathes of furs and skins, wrapped up against the bite of the wind. It was an unusual habit, belying the man’s foreign origins; the spring was a few weeks into its stride, and the weather quite warm. The shorter, darker figure, Frank, wore much less; his arms were bare under the horse skin vest, revealing complicated patterns of tribal tattoos. They were making very little progress up the slope, despite the short distance to the top, where the meadow levelled out onto a plateau. Ray sighed and jumped down from the rocky outcrop, taking long strides to meet them.

He raised his hand as he approached. 

“I didn’t realise you would make a catch that big with just the two of you!” He called. 

Bob, the fair haired hunter returned the greeting and dug his heel into the soil to stop the elk slipping back down the hillside. 

“We got lucky!” He shouted, “This one was lost and alone.” His voice was whipped away from him by the wind, leaving his words clipped. His long hair was swept repeatedly into his eyes and he tossed his head back, trying to clear his vision, both his hands gripping the elk.

Ray slid into place alongside Frank, and grabbed a foreleg of the beast, together they managed to haul the carcass up and over the lip of the ridge, onto the flat ground. They paused for a moment or two, panting to catch their breath.

“You should have approached from the forest-side slope.” Ray commented, appraising the distance from the riverbank, where the hunters must have made their kill. Bob nodded and wiped a hand across his forehead. 

“That’s what I thought originally,” He answered. “But it just didn’t seem that far up the hill.”

“You just wanted to see if we could do it.” Frank snorted in derision.

“We could ‘a done it.” Bob replied evenly, and shrugged, “eventually.”

With the three of them working together on even ground it was much easier to move. They could almost pick the whole body up and with an odd shuffling gait they set off towards the cave. Ray felt a slight wave of satisfaction on behalf of his friends. He had flushed two pheasants himself yesterday and the first tribal hunt of the season had been abundantly successful three nights ago. This lucky find was sure to make Mikey very happy indeed. 

It took them surprisingly little time to reach the cave, and the nearer they got the more people were around to help drag the beast to the pit dug at the side of the cliff, where they could handle and prepare the carcass most comfortably. Frank paled as they approached and dropped back as Bob slid the elk over the edge to the waiting hands of two other tribesmen then followed it down to help with the skinning.

“You should really learn how to do that you know.” Ray commented as they walked away, amid pats on the back and congratulations to the hunters. 

Frank shook his head. “It makes me uncomfortable,” he shrugged,” “I don’t know why,” He smiled when Ray frowned. “I know it’s an unpopular opinion,” he continued apologetically, “but I really don’t know why we have to hunt anyway, there’s plenty to eat in the forest.” 

Ray laughed despite himself, it was a familiar conversation. He knew Frank’s reluctance was something of an oddity among their tribe, even bordering on becoming controversial when they spent time with other clans in the summer or had visitors. Frank was still willing to hunt, which meant others usually just accepted his views as eccentricities and he could always be counted on to pull his weight on hunts through sparser months. He was just so very good at it.

“You’d have nothing to wear and we’d starve in winter, you know that.” 

Frank smiled crookedly, “Yeah,” he said, “I know.” 

~**~

The clan was using the spring sunshine to get as much done as possible ready for the warmer months before a rain shower hit them. The weather on the plains was unpredictable and could turn suddenly. While their mostly sheltered position against the wall of the hills hemming the forest kept them out of the worst of it they were still taking advantage of the light. For months the small clan of fifty or so had been safe against the bitter cold and deep snows of winter walled up in the dark cave that split the hillside and when spring broke they relished the chance move freely about in the fresh air once again. 

Frank enjoyed this time of year the most when the buzz of anticipation influenced everything the clan did. He smiled as he realised that also meant Ray who was grinning infectiously in greeting to others as they walked through the camp.

Around the entrance to the largest cave the area was alive with activity. They stepped over the pegs of oak, curled straps of toughened leather and great sheets of hide that were being assembled into the series of enormous tents that would be their home until the end of autumn. Frank had picked out a spot near the edge of the trees, further back in the camp than last year. He had arranged to share with Ray again but they had asked Bob to join them since he was also without a mate and had decided to stay with the clan, at least for the summer. The gruff newcomer had been a little taken aback by the offer, but since he was unfamiliar with the clan’s routines he had finally agreed in the face of Frank’s relentless insistence. There was a certain amount of logic to it, Bob had been sharing Ray’s hearth as he recovered from the injuries they found him with and they had developed a close friendship over the winter. Frank liked the stoic man, he was dependable and if their success with the elk was anything to go by, a fierce and confident hunter.

A cheerful voice called out to Ray as they passed along the cliff face, from one of the young apprentice flint knappers that Ray had taken under his wing, Brendon. Frank waved off an apologetic farewell as Ray went to meet him and headed on to their tent alone, eager to check up on its progress. 

He was a little unprepared to find Cortez just finishing the last lashings on the exterior skin as he approached. He had thought that their tent would be one of the last finished, the growing families and older tribesmen usually took priority. 

“We’re not the only tent builders, so the others won’t wait long,” Cortez said, clearly reading his expression and pleased at Frank’s surprise. “You really did me a favour before winter broke and I wanted to return it.” 

Frank could understand that, he hadn’t been sure what Cortez had needed the hawk feathers for, only that it involved some very complicated trading among the craftsmen and that they had not been the only items Cortez had needed. Apparently it had been to settle a bet of some kind, rumours had flown that there was some secret ritual involved. Even in the face of Frank’s dogged persistence and what he considered extremely stealthy questioning, Mikey had not been forthcoming with details. 

Frank was clearly pleased, Cortez simply smiled and nodded as he collected his tools and moved back up towards the cave entrance to another tent. 

Frank took a moment to take in the ingenious design of these structures, every year they amazed him, they went up so quickly and lasted for nearly a whole year. When winter rolled around the materials were simply packed up and stored for the next season, patch jobs and repairs were Cortez’s responsibility throughout the summer. By the looks of things the tent they had this year was a fairly new one, only one repair was clearly visible, near the entrance flap. 

He ducked inside and curled his toes into the rich loam, another reason that he wanted a tent this close to the forest. He liked the earthy smell that hung around better than the grassy, airy smell the tents nearer the hillside got. It wouldn’t be there for long he knew, it would be swallowed up in the smells of living, the smells of people and cooking and leafsmoke, but he relished it while it lasted. 

Inside the sunlight was warm and muted; Cortez had already dug a fire pit at the centre and lined it with flat river stones. Frank resolved to put a hunt together to acquire new materials for the tent builder; he was rapidly turning into one of Frank’s favourite clansmen. Ray liked to sleep nearer the entrance so Frank would be at the back, nearest the forest; Cortez had even thought to face their tent the right way round. 

Because it would be his last chance before they laid a floor, Frank stretched out on the pine loam, looking up at the interior hides. He wondered idly what it would have been like to have been among the ancestors, before there were tents, when they slept under the stars every night. Frank liked to sleep outside when they were on a hunt, but nothing compared to the intimacy of the tents. After months of living on top of everyone else it was liberating to have some privacy. . Briefly, he considered luxuriating in his solitude and getting himself off there in the tent while the clansmen shuffled back and forth outside and called out to one another. Although he felt his cock stir at the thought of jerking off slowly and lazily in the privacy of the tent he dismissed the idea, not knowing when Ray would return. 

Instead he sprang upright and headed back to the cave to collect his stored belongs. It was early in the day and he felt that he should at least try to be productive, not that it was expected of him after bringing in the elk. 

The huge cave was dim compared to the bright spring sunshine; it felt chill where the fires were no longer burning. It took a moment for Frank’s eyes to adjust to the lack of light. There were people still scattered about inside, those whose tents were not up yet, or that were packing up their winter hearths. Over the warmer months this space would be communal, rather than split up into the smaller family and shared areas they were occupying now. The men would soon bring in the huge smooth rocks that were hauled out of the waterfall in generations past; they would form the base for the big fire that would serve as the focal point for the clan’s communal cooking and socialising in the cave. Despite years of living through the cycle from winter into spring, it always struck Frank how big this cave was once everyone had moved out. 

His single hearth was next to the one his parents were still living in, against the interior wall. It was near Ray’s but not shared, and Frank was looking forward to moving into the tent more because of it. He was so intent on packing his flint knives and bores into a thick rawhide pack that he didn’t hear the approach from behind him and when the visitor cleared his throat Frank dropped the pack in shock.

“Oh, I’m sorry Frank!” the visitor gasped, the figure was silhouetted against the cave entrance but the outline of messy shoulder length hair and slightly hunched profile was unmistakable as the clan’s artist. 

“Gee!” Frank breathed, exasperated and a little embarrassed. 

“I’m sorry,” Gerard grinned unrepentant, “I guess your amazing hunter reflexes are just too much for you to handle at home huh?” 

“Oh fuck off,” Frank grinned back, “You totally snuck up on me.” 

Gerard sat down on a tight roll of furs and nudged items into Frank’s reach with his toe. 

“I heard you brought in an elk.” He said, “Just you and Bob?”

Frank laughed, “Yeah, it wasn’t hard, we were downwind, and it was young, separated from the herd, if we hadn’t got it wolves or something would have.” He cursed as he broke the fine curve of a worn knife against the strap of a pack he was shortening, reached for a fresher, sharper blade, and resolved to ask Ray for a new one. “He’s a remarkable hunter!”

“It’s impressive,” Gerard agreed, and nodded sagely, “Mikey wants to hold a ceremony.” 

Frank sighed; Mikey would hold a ceremony if someone sneezed. “Seriously? I don’t know why...”

Gerard lifted his shoulders in a lazy shrug. “He thinks it’s good luck, he wants to pass it on to the other hunters.” 

When it was put like that Frank supposed it did make a certain kind of sense, it was just that he felt so awkward and clumsy at ceremonies, although Mikey’s were usually more interesting than the ones the last Shaman used to hold. Malik been very kind to Frank, as he had been to all of the children of the cave, but he was very old when he died and ceremonies would take forever; sometimes only ending when the ancient Shaman fell asleep. Frank didn’t miss him all that much. 

Kneeling on a pile of furs to pack them tighter Frank glanced at Gerard, who was frowning. 

“You ok?” He asked. He gestured for the strap the artist was playing with distractedly and shucked it underneath the roll before tying it off. Gerard made a noncommittal noise, biting his lip. 

“I can’t get started on my new wall.” He said suddenly. 

Frank raised an eyebrow. “Why is that a problem?”

“I haven’t done anything for the clan except design a few coming of age tattoos for months. I wanted to have the new paintings ready for the start of summer.” 

Frank patted Gerard’s knee. “It probably just isn’t time yet,” he said. “Inspiration will come; maybe you could ask Mikey for a ceremony.” He finished wryly. He shouldered the last pack and picked up the roll he had tied. “I’ll see you later? Can you come to the tent for evening meal? It’s already up.” 

Frank winked at his friend and headed back to the tent with as much as he could carry. 

~**~

Gerard felt a little better for having spoken to Frank. It wasn’t a huge problem, he knew, there were plenty of other things he could do for work, to trade for meat. The Spirits knew he had no talent whatsoever for hunting, they had endowed him with plenty of others as compensation. He briefly considered making some jewellery with the sparkling stones they had found in the river last year, the one he had not decided on a use for. He was hoping inspiration would strike for those as well. He sighed at his own apathy. It was frustrating him. 

Stepping outside was a little shock, the sun was so bright that it hurt his eyes. It always seemed to take him longer than the other to get used to the changing seasons. Of all of the clansmen, he and his brother were definitely the palest. At least Mikey had an excuse. 

For a while he watched a couple of the tents go up, marvelling at how they acted as miniature caves, but with pliable walls...walls with no decoration, no images...blank. With the very beginnings of an idea he ducked back into the cave and picked his way to the hearth he shared with his brother. He collected a large birch bark pack filled with carved wooden pots and horsehair brushes. 

As he blinked his way back out into the sunshine he called out to Cortez. 

“Do you have some spare hide?” He asked, “Perhaps something from a repair or an off cut?”

Cortez rubbed his chin, considering. He gestured to a nearby pile of splintered pegs and debris. 

“You might find something in there,” he replied, “I don’t know what’s in it, I haven’t done any patch jobs today, just builds, but the others may have, I don’t know what you need exactly.” 

It was more than enough, calling his thanks over his shoulder, Gerard hurried over to the pile of clutter, tugging at bits of wood and flint until he spotted something that looked promising. It was a square of hide, deer by the feel and colour of it; it was stained at the corner and had suffered a rip down the middle, but had been cut neatly, presumably for the patch to fit over the hole where it had been. Taking the hide Gerard wandered out of the way of the tent builders and perched his pack on a seating area away from the main camp. He didn’t want to be overlooked by the other craftsmen in this experiment in case it went badly wrong. 

He slid his thumb gently over the hide, it was old, and still pliable, but had been prepared first and foremost as a tent covering. It wasn’t treated to be waterproof, so this must have been an inner lining. He had experience in dying garments but nothing this thick and not painting patterns; colours were usually added with beads. It would have to do. 

Carefully he unstopped a water skin and poured a little out into a shallow wooden dish; one Frank had made him when they were children and still learning many crafts. It was slightly uneven, but it held the water well enough, besides, it was Gerard’s favourite. He dipped a brush first into the water and then into a little pot of ochre paste from the pack. Tentatively he made a stroke on the hide. 

It didn’t run, so he kept going, building up a pattern as he went, he added other colours, even a little of the crushed red dye that was so difficult to make. When he was satisfied with the result he held it up in the light, casting a critical eye over his work. It was certainly attractive, little patterns of reds and browns and blues. It would take a lot of dye, but maybe that would give him something useful to do. He needed to test it on the waterproofed hide later, but perhaps there would be clan members who would like their interiors painted. 

Feeling a little better about the day Gerard packed up his equipment, washed off the brushes with water from the skin, and set off to find Ray.

~**~

The small area set aside for the craftsmen to work together was fairly quiet. Most people were helping put up the remaining tents. Ray and Brendon say against a smooth boulder, a sheepskin laid out beneath them. Over the years the flint knappers had built up a sharp layer of flint shards as they worked and it was usually a bad idea to sit on the naked ground unless you ended up with a splinter of stone in your backside. 

Brendon had been itching to get out of the cave for the last few days. Everyone had been anticipating the move and the frustration that some members of the clan felt was infectious. The hunters were the worst; everyone knew Frank especially struggled with being cooped up for so long. Brendon had his own reasons however; he had been working with what stone they could gather before moving into the cave, since over the winter the entire area outside was coated in a thick layer of snow. It had been old, dry flint, prone to cracking and splitting even against the natural fault lines and he was desperate to work with fresh stone that still had some give in its core. 

It had taken him all morning to work up the courage to strike the first chip off the small nodule of dark flint he’d collected from the edge of the cliff face. He’d sent fervent prayers to the spirits of the stone and of the cave in the hope they would guide his first impacts. Eventually, with Ray’s patient encouragement he had begun the knife, turning it around in his lap as he chipped flakes away. The nodule was long and he worked from the centre outwards until one leaf-shaped end was as sharp as he could make it, while the other fitted comfortably and smoothly into the wielder’s palm. 

Gerard’s approach was preceded by the greetings the other clansmen called out to him as he threaded his way through them. He joined them on the sheepskin and offered a scrap of hide to Ray. 

“My new project!” He said proudly, “The dyes can be painted onto the hide.” 

Ray looked a little confused; he turned the skin over in his hands. 

“This is too thick for clothing, what is it?” He asked. 

Brendon leaned over to get a closer look. “That’s a tent hide,” He said, “the ones they’re putting up now.” 

Gerard nodded and looked pleased. “I thought people might like decorations in their dwellings,” he said, “like the cave wall, but not stories...”

Ray looked impressed, sucking at his lip and raising his eyebrows. “It might work,” he said, “They would look good by firelight.”

“Exactly!” Gerard exclaimed “Can I start with yours?” His face was almost comically hopeful.

Ray laughed and nodded. “If you like, I don’t think Bob or Frank would mind. I’ll let you know when it’s up.” 

Gerard looked surprised. “It’s up already, didn’t you know? Frank invited me for evening meal.” 

Ray smirked, his unruly hair hiding his eyes. “Well I guess you owe me a knife Brendon,” He laughed, “Frank’s ludicrous trade paid off eventually!” 

Brendon’s face fell. Wordlessly and somewhat sheepishly he handed Ray the knife he had planned to give Ryan. With a sigh he selected another flint node, and started over. 

~**~

By the time Ray reached the tent Frank had already done most of the hard work. Across the bare floor he had laid branches of fir from the forest, on top of that he had laid the flat planks of timber that were stored for the tents. He was just laying a second sheet of fir on top of the wood as Ray approached. 

“We’re in tonight!” Frank called out, “Can you believe it?!” He looked more than anything, like a child with his first kill, beaming ear to ear. 

Ray handed him two branches of fir from the pile Frank had made by the entrance and ducked inside. Against the back wall Frank had placed the rolls of heavy bison and elk skin that would be their floor. As Frank placed the last branches over the wood Ray cut the straps and began to lay the furs out. It wasn’t long before the tent looked cosy and inviting, even without their bedrolls and hearth set up. 

There was a grunt of surprise from behind them as Bob appeared, momentarily blocking out the light from outside. 

“This is much better than a cave!” He exclaimed, “Much better!” 

He was scrubbed clean where he had been down to the river to wash off the results of processing the beast he and Frank had brought in that morning. His pale skin was glowing pink under his loose deerskin tunic. He was much stockier than most of the men of their tribe, and Ray couldn’t help but admire the way he looked like he could bring down an ox, even when he was sleeping. 

“Do your people live in tents?” Frank asked, as he tucked a fur over the edge of the wooden floor. 

Bob nodded and scratched his beard. “Yes, but not small ones, we made big tents on the plains from the tusks of mammoths and their skins. The whole clan lived together in there, like a cave...but warmer.” He shuddered; since arriving at their cave in the early winter Bob had struggled with the cold. His time with them had not been easy on him and Ray was pleased to see the effect the warmer weather was having on his friend’s mood. 

“This one will likely get too hot in the summer.” The flint knapper warned. 

“No such thing.” Bob grunted in reply, earning a snigger from Frank. 

“Yeah,” he said, “you say that now.” 

Bob rubbed his face with both palms, and stretched his jaw, it cracked, making Ray wince. He glanced at Frank’s pile of packs and garments at the back of the tent. “I’ll go and fetch my stuff then.” He said, and disappeared out of the tent, leaving Ray and Frank to finish the last few corners of the floor. 

~**~

Bob liked the clan, he liked the people that had taken him in and he liked how easy it was to hunt from their dwelling. He did not, however, like the cave. Its looming dark recesses and damp walls made him feel as though he was wandering towards the world of the spirits, never to return. 

He figured Mikey was probably right; that his uneasy feelings about the great split in the hillside stemmed from the fever-dreams he experienced when he collapsed from his injuries not twenty paces from the cave mouth. If the hunters had not been reinforcing the snow they would never have seen him fall. He didn’t remember the clansmen lifting him bodily up and carrying him into the dwelling, nor did he remember the first few days of his stay. He was told that Ray had sat in vigilance over him, since he had offered his hearth as a place to rest and through the combined efforts of the flint knapper and the tribe’s medicine man Joe, he had slowly but steadily regained consciousness and lucidity. 

The last few days of his fever had been wrought with anxiety and nightmares. Wicked shadows had been lurching across the cave ceiling above him, reaching out to touch his face and hands. Something had kept him safe, perhaps the spirit of the cave, or the hillside, but every time they reached out to him, it batted them away like a fly. By the end he had felt sick with it, unable to sleep or rest. 

The first thing he remembered after waking up was punching Ray as his face swam in to focus. He hadn’t realised of course that it was safe, the attack had been a self defensive action, but it left him with a deep sense of obligation to his friend, one he couldn’t repay easily. When Mikey had invited him to stay, he had accepted, if only to pay off the debt. 

Joe’s smiling face greeted him at the hearth. 

“I heard your tent was up! That’s a stroke of luck, throwing your lot in with Frank when he manages to pull that off!” 

Bob returned the greeting and shrugged his shoulders. 

“I’ll help put up the rest of the tents if someone will show me how.” He turned his hand palm upwards in a gesture of helplessness. 

“Well your leg seems pretty much healed and I hear you had no problems with that elk.” Joe replied, casting a critical eye over Bob’s posture. “We didn’t know you were such a fine hunter!” He chuckled “I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t help; your limp has all but disappeared, though I think you’ll always have a scar.” 

Bob nodded; it was inevitable, only his own blind stupidity had gotten him nearly killed. He’d fallen asleep too close to his campfire, a stray spark setting his bedroll alight with him in it. He had escaped with burns only to the lower half of his leg and his hands, where he had tried to put out the blaze. It hadn’t been too bad but the real danger had come from the infection he had suffered as a result of travelling alone. He had learned a hard lesson about his own mortal limits and the luck he had been blessed with since had only made him humble. 

Joe’s own tent was already up, his family was growing, and their hearth in the cave too small. Although as medicine man he was setting up a summer hearth inside the cave too, a store for his herbs and poultices and extra beds for any that were to fall sick or injured. He was a hoarder, and the baskets and boxes he had made or traded for were full to bursting with the mysterious herbs and powders he may need to take care of his tribe. Bob wondered how he managed to keep everything so well stocked. Certainly the healer of his own tribe would have been envious. 

When he was packed Bob nodded a farewell to Joe and threaded his way deeper into the cave, where it was necessary to light the way with torches. There was a smooth indentation in the rock at the rear. Once the river had run over the sandstone and it had left a rippling channel of pale cream and pink. At the entrance to the channel the walls were decorated with swirling tribal patterns and murals depicting great events. Some had been painted generations before, some more recently and the ones nearest the edge by the cave’s current artist. The channel took a steep curve downwards and the wall became bare, Bob knew that Gerard could often be found here, meditating on it, waiting for inspiration. It wasn’t the artist Bob sought however, but his brother.

Thanks to a back channel or a blockage of some kind the river had aeons ago carved out a bowl, a small room hidden from the rest of the cave. For generations this tribe’s Shamans had claimed the space as their own and when Malik died, it had naturally passed to Mikey. 

The new Shaman sat there now, cross legged on a beargrass mat, his back to Bob. The small fire contained within the ancient shallow dent in the floor was flameless, only embers lit the walls. 

Bob had been intimidated by the quiet man when first they met, but like his brother, Mikey had a natural way of attracting people. His unassuming charisma had been the deciding factor in Bob’s decision to stay; he had never felt anything but welcome here. 

Bob walked slowly around the fire and made certain to place his feet deliberately to alert the Shaman to his presence. Often he found it all too easy to sneak up on people, a side effect of his years of hunting. He was concerned for a moment that he would be disturbing him from a trance or meditation, but Mikey’s hand gestured to the mat beside him in greeting. It was a moment before he spoke. 

“You feel better now you’re escaping the cave?” The shaman asked, the mirth seeped easily into his voice. 

Bob smiled and bowed his head in agreement.

“I didn’t know if I would see another spring, this one feels like a blessing.” He said reverently. 

Mikey laughed, short and loud, startling Bob. 

“Oh Bob,” Mikey leaned sideways and nudged him with his shoulder. Bob tried not to yelp, Mikey was bony, painfully skinny compared to Bob.

“You’re always so serious.” Mikey cracked his knuckles and stretched his neck. “I don’t know how formal your tribe is, but I’ve told you before that you don’t need to stand on ceremony here.” His face creased a little, “Unless it is a ceremony I guess...” He corrected. He squinted across the embers at Bob.

One of the clanswomen had told Bob that Mikey had been chosen to become Malik’s apprentice because he was poor sighted. Malik had believed that Mikey’s spirit-sight was stronger as a result. It made Bob a little nervous of the straight faced man. Not for the first time he wondered if Mikey had been the one to watch over him in his fever-dreams, the thought did nothing to relax him. 

“You’re lucky.” Mikey said. 

Bob nodded; it was something he couldn’t deny. 

“Do you think you could rub that off on the rest of the men?” 

Bob’s cheeks flushed, he was sure that Mikey hadn’t meant to insinuate anything and his grasp of this tribe’s language was sometimes shaky but the thought brought a little adrenaline to his veins all the same. There were many fine men in this tribe, few that Bob would refuse. He cleared his throat, and swallowed. 

Mikey’s smile was enigmatic, Bob couldn’t make out whether the Shaman was asking innocently about luck, or suggesting something much more. He was terrified of insulting the man who had invited him to stay, whose tribe had saved his life. There were no single sex couples in this clan and for all Bob knew, it was forbidden, or taboo. He wasn’t going to risk anything by asking. 

“I want to pass on the luck you brought back with that elk,” Mikey continued. Bob let out a slow exhale. 

“How?” the hunter asked. 

“A ceremony, when the moon reaches its fullest.” Mikey stroked the bridge of his nose in thought. “I’ll think of something.” 

Bob rose to leave. “Just let me know.” Was all he could think to say.

~**~

Mikey watched Bob leave impassively. For the third time that day he felt the irrepressible urge to meditate, to enter the realm of dreams. Something was drawing him there, something he had yet to identify and it had something to do with the fair haired newcomer. 

He unfolded his legs and stood, pulling a curtain across the entrance to the little cave. Slowly he circled the room, deciding whether or not to submit to the temptation. He no longer had Malik’s guidance and his inexperience concerned him a little. His brother was right however, the only way to get experience was to paint the canvas. The metaphor didn’t quite cover it, but the sentiment remained. If only Gerard would take his own advice...

The fire’s embers spluttered and hissed when Mikey dropped two solid applewood logs over them, sending up a little sweet scented smoke in the process. The natural cleft of the caves above him drew the smoke upwards and away, towards the spirits themselves. He returned to his mat and placed a small spot of paste on his tongue, the bitter flavours making his mouth water. As it dissolved he breathed in evenly, letting his mind sort through events, the clutter of the day before settling down into an easy, familiar calm. 

The world dipped as he entered The Realm. It tilted and swam as he fought to remain upright. He could feel his body below him, calm and steady, still kneeling on the mat by the fire. His spirit self rose and stretched - eager to explore. This time Mikey’s visit had a purpose, he sought answers, although he had no idea where to begin his search. 

Slowly and with more than a little discomfort he began to ascend towards the mists of The Realm itself, forever aware of his body form. He cast about looking for whatever presence called him here, whatever it was that was drawing him so strongly into his dreams. 

~**~

The sun was past its highest point when Bob returned to the tent. Ray and Frank had already set up their bedrolls, leaving a neat space for him near Frank at the back. Frank was sat at the centre, coaxing the small stubborn fire into life. 

“Ray’s gone to beg a meal from his parents.” He said conversationally “I think it’s cheating, since we asked Gerard to come, but I guess it makes sense.” 

Bob placed his belongings on the fur covered floor and sat to tug his boots off. “Cheating?” He asked.

Frank nodded. “I didn’t think we’d get anything cooked until the fire had been going a while, and Ray was getting really hungry. I suppose hunting rations doesn’t make for a great first meal.” He looked forlornly at the little dish of ground grains and mashed potatoes that he’d formed into patties. “I’d prefer something hot anyway.”

Bob quite liked Frank’s rations; they had been the first thing he’d eaten after waking after his collapse. It had taken all of Joe’s gesticulating and mime to convince Bob they were food. Frank had persisted by sitting obstinately in front of him and eating two or three to make Bob try one. Bob had not eaten anything solid in many days and it was such a relief to eat something that afterwards he had developed something of a taste for Frank’s eccentric cuisine. Frank had then taught him to speak their language through weeks of patient direction and encouragement. Many people had reassured him then that the tiny tattooed hunter didn’t mind. There wasn’t much else to do in winter and if the truth be told the clan were happy to give Frank something to do, lest he get some wild notion into his head about tracking wolves in the biting cold of the hills. 

“I think they make a great first meal.” He said quietly, rolling out the furs from his hearth in the cave and setting his small collection of packs at the head. Frank only giggled in response and poked the fire again, he handed Bob a potato cake anyway. 

Bob had only been carrying meagre supplies when he had been found by the clan. Among the items that were familiar to any that had spent time with him since were his travelling bedroll, now augmented by a shaggy bison fur he had one gambling with Joe, and a small carved statue of the Mother. He placed this carefully by the head of his bedroll. 

Knowing then that he would be staying with the clan for at least the foreseeable future, Bob dismantled his largest pack. He tugged the rawhide outer apart, sliding the flat shape under the floor for support, then shook out the inner lining, which elicited a gasp from Frank.

“Is that a bearskin!?” 

Bob chuckled, and dragged his palm over the fur, running it against the grain. 

“It was my father’s.” He said, “I am told he killed the bear when it threatened my mother while she was gathering near the salmon run.” He tilted the dark fur towards Frank and pushed his fingers through a small slit near the neck end. “It only took one spear.” 

His father had given Bob the skin for luck when he had left to journey his way across the plains. Out of respect for the warrior bear his father had never made garments from the skin, but had used it only as decoration, a trophy. Bob laid it across his bed, and smiled fondly. “They were mated soon after.” Seeing it spread out reminded Bob sharply of his family and he was struck with a sudden pang of homesickness. 

Frank drew in his breath through his teeth in a whistle. 

“Your father must be some warrior!” 

Bob ducked his head, shy of the sudden rush of emotions, “My tribe is very proud of him.” 

“Well,” Frank replied cheerily, “now we know where you get it from.” 


	2. Chapter 2

_  
Endless potential stretched out in front of Mikey leaving him breathless. He could see the shifting spirit-paths, the routes those-who-walked-above took. Nothing seemed familiar except the ever present sensation of kneeling as his mind-self connected with his body-self. If he concentrated he could even feel the impressions the reed weavings were making in his knees as he held his position. He resolved to try dream-walking laying down next time, despite Malik’s warnings that if he ever became too comfortable he would become lost.   
_

_  
Without a clear purpose he began casting about for some sort of clue, something had drawn him here, something powerful enough to reach him in waking. There was something out here that wanted to tell him something.   
_

_  
Shapes were forming around him, images of the tents and hearths of his clan. He felt as though he stood alone in their camp, wreathed in fog. He made his way between the trees, amongst the debris of life, the abandoned tents and cold fires.    
_

_  
He approached the edge of the tree line, where a breeze he could not feel brushed the branches back and forth gently. There was laughter, soft at first, then sharper as he moved closer. He realised with a sudden rush of trepidation that a figure stood shaded under the nearest fir, its back to the shaman.    
_

_  
It spoke, and seemed male where it spoke in Mikey’s mind.    
_

_  
“ You came, I’m so glad.”   
_

_  
“ You called me.” Mikey’s reply was more of a statement than a question. Whatever the spirit wanted, Mikey must never let it think he was anything but in control.   
_

_  
“ I did.” The spirit turned to face Mikey. Dark straight hair fell into a round face, its features fine and attractive. It smiled disarmingly, and spread its hands in welcome. Its smile reminded Mikey of a jackal; too many teeth.   
_

_  
“ I came.” Mikey said. It was an invitation, he would need the spirit to reveal its intentions, Malik had always said they enjoyed puzzles and games. At a clan meet one summer a younger, more naive Mikey had sat in rapturous awe as the shamans told stories of the verbal mazes the spirits weaved for even the greatest among them. They were kin to spiders it was said, never struggle, their nets would trap you.    
_

_  
The spirit’s eyes were like amber, they gazed unblinkingly at Mikey’s face. It was that gaze that kept Mikey constantly aware that he was not speaking to a human, though it might currently wear that form.    
_

_  
“ I waited for you.” It said. “You were the first to hear me.”   
_

_  
Mikey’s surprise must have been evident to the spirit because it laughed again, melodically.    
_

_  
“ You called others.” Mikey said the realisation was a piece of the puzzle. Something he could use.   
_

_  
The spirit nodded, its expression shifted to express sadness. “The music died.” It said.   
_

_  
“ Music is important.” Mikey suggested cautiously, trying to get a handle on what the spirit wanted.   
_

_  
The spirit seemed to become agitated, it wrung its hands fitfully and its eyes darted back and forth. “Another discouraged.” It replied fervently. “But it is gone now and we do not know how to make them sing once more.”    
_

_  
Mikey was at a loss, he had no idea what the spirit was referring to.    
_

_  
The spirit’s gaze returned to Mikey. “You can bring it home.”    
_

_  
“ What home?” The reply was instinctive and Mikey cursed inwardly, he had asked a question of the spirit and now it had the right to ask a question or a boon in return   
_

_  
“ Will you return?” It said slyly.    
_

_  
Mikey backed away, growing wary of the situation.   
_

_  
“ Wait!” the spirit called, a little desperately.    
_

_  
“ Tell me your name and I will consider it.” Mikey said, hoping that he sounded more authoritative than he felt.   
_

_  
The spirit seemed to twist a little, agonising over the decision. Calling to Mikey across the divide in the waking world must have been no small task which meant it had no small power but giving its name away could potentially leave it vulnerable to the Shaman.    
_

_  
It seemed to shrink a little as it relented. “Pete.” It said finally.   
_

_  
Mikey nodded. “I will return then.” He said. He knew he would keep his word, if nothing else he wanted answers and he knew it would not be the last time he felt the itch under his skin, the desire to return here. He wasn’t sure if he had the will to resist.   
_

_  
He could feel his inexperience; remaining here so far from the edges of his conscious space was stretching him thin, becoming painful. He knew with practice that it would become easier but for now It was a relief to follow the thin line of consciousness back into the world of warmth and waking, albeit to aching knees and a serious crick in his neck. There would be time enough to discover what the enigmatic spirit wanted of him, and for all its apparent lack of malice how he might help without losing his soul.    
_

~**~

Bob’s eyes flicked open. The winds outside had whipped up into what must have been approaching a gale. The tent was dark except for the low glow of the embers from Frank’s ever reluctant fire. Across from him he could hear Ray’s familiar low snores over the intermittent whistling of the wind. The tent flap was not entirely secure and it snapped back and forth. Bob realised it must have been the sound that awakened him. He rose quietly stepping carefully past Ray’s prone silhouette and caught the tying strap, lashing it against the post in the ground. Outside the warmth of the tent the air felt muggy and damp, as though rain was on its way. 

As he made his way back to his bed he was a little startled to realise Frank was awake, watching him pick his way back across the floor. He murmured an apology for waking him.

“ It’s ok,” Frank whispered, “I was really just dozing.” 

The first big raindrops arrived sooner than Bob expected, just as he reached his bed. They pattered into the hides above them. Then in a rush the noise was all around them, sheets of rain driven into the tent by the wind. It was a sound Bob hadn’t heard since leaving his tribe and he breathed in deep, nostalgia and homesickness welling up inside him. Ray turned over restlessly, but settled back into snoring almost immediately. 

When the first flash of lightning light the edges of the entrance up and thunder boomed around them through the rain Bob was surprised to see Frank visibly tense up in the dim light. 

“ Are you ok?” He hissed. He could hear Frank’s breathing quicken, and the tiny hunter was balled up in his furs. 

Frank’s reply was a non committal grunt, but an audible gasp gave his fear away as a second flash of lightning lit up the walls, the thunder a heartbeat behind. 

“ Frank,” Bob whispered urgently “Frank, come here!” 

Frank turned his face to Bob, and seemed indecisive until a sudden gust of wind blew a violent sheet of rain against the tent, and Frank threw off his furs in a single motion, he kicked them free and scuttled over to Bob’s bed.

Bob lifted the edge of his furs to welcome Frank’s shaking form beside him, for a moment he regretted his nakedness but his desire to comfort his friend overwhelmed his modesty. Frank’s skin was warm against his own and he murmured soft encouragements to Frank as they lay together. 

Slowly Frank began to relax, his breathing becoming more even. He rolled to lie on his back beside Bob, only flinching when thunder cracked overhead. Bob fought the urge to stroke Frank’s hair from his face, or to tangle their fingers together as Frank told him in a low murmur the story of how, as a child he had become lost along the river in a thunderstorm and had to endure it alone, until his father had found him the next morning, huddling inside the hollow of a fallen tree. When Frank’s word were coming whole seconds apart and he finally fell asleep Bob watched his face for a long while before shifting onto his back beside his friend, half hard and incredibly confused. 

~**~

Frank woke to birdsong. He was alone in the tent and for a few moments he was disoriented until he recalled the storm, and diving like a terrified child into Bob’s furs. The bottom dropped out of his stomach and he was overwhelmed with shame. By now the whole clan probably knew what an idiot he had been. 

He crawled back to his bed, and shook his clothes from the pile he had left them in; reluctantly he pulled on the pants and tunic and ran his fingers through the tangle of his hair. He busied himself by raking the ashes over the long dead fire and set a new one, then reorganised his belongings twice. He couldn’t deny the truth however; sooner or later he was going to have to leave the tent.

It was well into midmorning by the time he emerged, his eyes screwed shut involuntarily against the glare of the sun. The storm had done much to clear the air above the valley and the cloudless sky was stunningly beautiful. Two clansmen walked by the tent, deep in conversation, one looked up at Frank as they passed, and he could have sworn a smirk crept across his face before he turned back to his companion. 

Feeling pitiful Frank grabbed a shoulder sling from the collection of supplies inside the tent’s entrance and headed away from the camp, into the forest. His face flushed hot and red with embarrassment. 

~**~

The sun was high by the time Gerard poked his head around the entrance flap of the deserted tent. There was no sign of Bob, Frank or Ray. Gerard could see a new fire laid, and Frank’s unusually tidy sleeping space probably meant they weren’t due back until the evening. He shrugged and entered, dropping his pack on the floor. 

He started slow, building up a pattern of interlocking shapes. Painting on to the interior of the tent was a challenge when it sloped up and over your head, by the time he stopped to replenish the dyes in the shallow wooden dish his face was peppered with tiny splashes and dots of dye. He could feel them drying on his skin. Idly he wondered if they would permanently stain like an artist’s version of the hunter’s tattoos. He could live with that, he was never going to earn any the traditional way, which was something else he could live with. He remembered the blood last time Frank had earned one and shuddered. 

By way of apology for thinking disrespectfully about Frank’s markings he incorporated some of the ones Frank bore on his back and arms into the design. The end result was quite attractive, especially when he added an overlaid pattern of red ochre sworls over the borders and edges. 

It was a long while before Gerard finally decided to stop, his stomach had been rumbling for a while, and he suspected his face was going to look more like a war-mask than anything else, he took in the blues and reds on his palette, or possibly a long dead beaten up corpse. Some part of him thought that aesthetically that would actually be pretty awesome, but he decided against the gamble, especially without Frank’s input.

A decorative band ran around the interior of the tent, with the sunlight behind it Gerard couldn’t see the colours very clearly. He couldn’t wait to see it by firelight.

Feeling a lot better about his immediate future Gerard headed down to the stream with his brushes and palettes. He figured he should probably scrub his face while he was down there as well. He glanced down at his hands and grinned, they did actually look like a corpse’s. 

~**~

The spring, if temperamental, was always mild in the hills. The face of the steepest hill was basked in sun nearly all day where it spread down from the forests into the plains. It meant that everything bloomed sooner this far up, and it was a good place to find all sorts of hidden treasures. 

It was a haven for Frank, who liked to take advantage of alternative food sources as soon as the clan’s reliance on meat was eased. 

Picking his way carefully through young brambles was only the start. Frank spent the morning grappling with the spreading vines and tree roots that choked the floor at the rim of the forest. It was hard work, and satisfying and helped to take his mind off his shame. Every so often he was lucky and found one of the small crops of wild strawberries that the birds had not yet raided. He had a sizable harvest too, even if the early berries were smaller and tarter than their later blooming cousins it had been months since he’d had one and almost as many made it into his mouth as made it into the sling across his waist. 

Frank began to feel a little better about himself, this far away from the rest of the clan, he valued privacy, perhaps more than anyone else he knew, with the exception of Mikey and Gerard. He figured Shamans and artists were special cases however, so much of their work relied on concentration; something that had never been Frank’s strongest feature. 

A short way ahead of the strawberry patches Frank knew there was a clearing that would offer him the chance to rest. If he was as lucky as last year the beets that grew along the ridge there would have been safe from the rooting of wild boar and would be ready to harvest. If not he could always make a trip back this way after the full moon.

It took him relatively little time to get to the clearing, and since the forest was fairly clear back down the hillside he knew he could get back to the camp in much less time than it took to climb up through the undergrowth. He wasn’t in a rush however, and to his satisfaction the long leafy stems of the beets were abundant around the open edge of the clearing. He unhooked his spear from his back and set to digging up the treasure. There were enough to pass on to some of the other hearths. He knew his mother in particular would be delighted. 

It was no small task digging up the beets. The undergrowth was thick and he had to avoid the thorns on every plant that had any means of defending itself. The earth at least was yielding and when he did manage to clear the space around the base of a plant the beet was revealed with just a little pressure from the butt of his spear. 

There was little wind, despite how high up the slope he had come, and the weather was positively summery, it wasn’t long before sweat was stinging Frank’s eyes from the work. He wiped the back of his hand across his face and took stock of his results. It wasn’t anything to be sniffed at; the sling was now almost full of strawberries and beets. He chuckled to himself, the sound echoing a little around the small clearing.

If it hadn’t been for his breather Frank might not have heard the twig snap. His head turned suddenly to the clearing, and every one of his muscles tensed. He turned the spear around noiselessly in his hand so the wickedly sharp stone tip was between him and whatever had made the sound. He began to cycle through possibilities. Bear; possibly although it was early for them the air    
was uncharacteristically warm. Mountain lion; more likely, they liked to stalk, invisible in the undergrowth and all Frank could see was a wall of leaves. Wild boar; more likely still since they were so common, and not necessarily a danger if he didn’t threaten it first. He crept forwards, his footfalls almost silent on the dense grass of the clearing. He crouched low, trying to present less of a target. As he neared the forest edge of the clearing he could make out a shape, something bigger than him and shifting from side to side restlessly.

His eyes narrowed, he didn’t think whatever it was had spotted him. There was a chance he could make a great kill; a mountain lion pelt was all kinds of valuable. He tried to get a better view, but all he could see was pale shadows and movements beyond the leaves. He drew back his spear arm and prepared to throw his weapon, at the very least; if he didn’t down the thing then it would be too wounded to chase him. 

Since it hadn’t noticed him he lined up to get the best shot possible, aiming for where he estimated the middle of the beast was. He steadied his arm and let the spear loose. His aim was off, it struck the tree next to the creature and Frank heard a gasp. In an instant he was rushing to the spot where his spear had landed, crashing through the foliage. The spear was embedded in the trunk of an elm, Bob’s face inches from the shaft. The hunter was staring wide eyed in shock at Frank. 

~**~

Mikey sat his bowl empty down; his brother had rushed in to drop off his pack and ran straight out again without so much as a greeting. Little was surprising to Mikey these days but he had rarely seen Gerard so energetic. It was encouraging, a sign that perhaps the apathy was wearing off a little. 

He could see nearly every other hearth from where he sat. Families with small children were at the back of the cave where it was warmer, unmated and strong hunters near the entrance where they could defend the dwelling if any animal came looking for shelter. There were few left inside now, the tents were nearly all up. A few small children were racing up and down the length of the cleft, tripping adults up as they packed to move out. 

Joe caught his eye from a few paces away. “   
I hear Gerard is staying with your parents.” He said, as Mikey gestured for him to join him.

Mikey nodded, Gerard had not found a mate over the winter and while he might have shared with Frank and Ray the tent was likely to get too crowded with Bob as well. Their family was smaller than both Frank’s and Ray’s, better that Gerard stay with their parents when Bob had no family here. 

“ How much do you know about dream walking Joe?” he asked. 

The healer shrugged. “I’m no Shaman, you know that, but I do know it can be dangerous.” 

“ It can be, but I’m not worried as much as confused.” 

Joe leaned back against the rock and drew a small pipe from his tunic, lighting it from the remains of Mikey’s cooking fire. “You wanna share?” He asked and then chuckled when Mikey waved the pipe off. “No I mean, why ask?”

“ You’re the closest other thing to a Shaman this tribe has.” Mikey paused, it was a heavy silence, but Joe let him tell it in his own time. Healers learned quickly when to speak and when to be patient.

“ I miss Malik.” Mikey said, then after another pause, “and Elena.” He breathed deeply as the blue smoke from Joe’s pipe curled around him. “They’d sure as day know what I’d be supposed to do.” 

A group of children scattered nearby as a clanswomen swore at them to get out from under her feet, her basket heavy with belongings. Joe tipped his pipe towards them and scratched his beard.

“ Are you putting the tribe in danger?” He asked mildly.

“ No!” Mikey insisted, “No, I just still know so little about talking to spirits, what I’m supposed to say...how I’m supposed to help.”

Joe’s face was impassive and his tone held no element of judgement. He simply tapped Mikey on the knee and used it to push himself upright. He stopped before he left the hearth turning back to the Shaman. “Dude, if you want to know whether the water conceals rocks, you have to float the canoe down the river.” He said, and walked away.

Mikey shook his head, the advice wasn’t all that far from his brother’s. It seemed the only way to find out what he should do was to give in to the itching he now felt almost constantly and return to the dream paths, to seek out Pete.

~**~

It was not Gerard’s finest moment. He had nearly fallen face first into the stream. His toe caught a stray chunk of chalkstone on the path and it made him step forward at an awkward angle. He managed to right himself just before he fell, but he had to laugh out loud at his own clumsiness. It took him a moment to realise he was not the only one laughing. 

Slightly downstream Lindsey was perched on a rock overhanging the stream; her dark hair framed her face perfectly, falling rebelliously in front of her eyes. She was kicking her feet in the water, waiting for the clothes she was washing to dry on a nearby stone. 

Gerard’s face flushed, he could feel the heat rising. He ducked his head shyly and knelt more comfortably to scrub the dye from his hands. He tried very hard not to notice the Lindsey’s shadow fall across him and didn’t look up when he crouched beside him. 

“ What did you do?” She asked, she was looking at his hands with concern as the dye swirled away from his skin downstream. He realised suddenly that it looked like blood.

“ Oh! Oh no, nothing.” He gasped. He pulled his hands out of the water suddenly and held them out to her. They dripped with blue and red dye, mingling to become purple. If anything, wetting his skin had only made the dye sink further into his hands, they were now blotched with deep patches of colour. 

Lindsey only looked more confused. 

“ It’s dye!” Gerard said, a little too loudly. “I was painting. I should probably be more careful with my hands in future; they look like I’ve had an accident.” He laughed at himself. 

Lindsey smirked. “It looks kinda cool.” She replied. “Like you’ve been stealing blackberries.” She turned his hands over, looking at Gerard’s purpling fingernails. “Or, like a corpse.” 

Gerard couldn’t help mirroring her grin. He felt a little lightheaded. He sat quietly watching as Lindsey used a little of the soaproot from her laundry to gently scrub the dye from his hands. 

~**~

Frank was speechless. Also angry, very very angry.

“ You fucking followed me!?” He spat. Bob looked taken aback; he frowned and reached down to pull his boot back onto his foot.

“ Followed you?” He said, “I had no idea you were up here, the hunters said wild boar could be found up here, I thought...”

“ You thought what, that you’d come up here to rub it in my face?” Frank was trying unsuccessfully to gouge his spear out of the tree. The bark was soft, as was the trunk, but there was little movement from the spearhead when he wiggled the shaft. He jabbed at the wood with a pointed rock angrily, trying to dislodge it.

Bob drew back as if stung by Frank’s words; he rubbed his face with his hands, and tried several times to start a sentence.

“ What you can’t think of anything to say?” Frank said sulkily. He knew he was being irrational now, but there was no way to hide the shame he felt from behaving like a terrified child. There was every chance Bob was telling the truth.

Bob’s posture seemed to shrink; he sank down to sit against the tree and turned his face away from Frank. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to offend you.” He said quietly.

“ I’m sure you have...what?” Frank looked down at his friend, huddled as he was against the bark. “Offend me?”

“ My friendship with you, and Ray, is important to me.” Bob said. It seemed rehearsed, like Bob had been waiting to say it. Frank realised with a stab of shame that Bob would have no more spread rumours about him than he would about Ray or Gerard. He swallowed, trying to stop his voice breaking. “I’m sorry I nearly took your head off.” He said, the last of his anger evaporating in the face of Bob’s vulnerability. “I don’t know what you think offended me though, I managed to dive into your bed like some terrified man-child because of a thunderstorm, then assumed you...I should apologise to you really.” Frank’s tone was anything but apologetic, and it managed to raise a smile on Bob’s face. 

“ I was...” Bob shook his head, like he didn’t know how to finish the sentence, as he often did when his grasp on the language of the clan grew shaky. Frank sat down beside him. 

“ It’s ok,” he said reassuringly, “I was just angry at myself.” 

Bob looked surprised, he reached out a hand to Frank, and when Frank didn’t pull away he seemed a little bolder, curling his fingers around Frank’s berry-stained palm. “You have nothing to feel anger about.” He said.

“ Hey,” Frank said, hauling himself to his feet and turning towards the path that would lead back down towards the camp. “You like strawberries?”

~**~

 _  
He couldn’t decide if it was a good thing or a problem that these paths were starting to become more familiar. He knew enough now that he could find his way back to the stream, the tree where he knew Pete would be waiting.    
_

_  
“ You came.”    
_

_  
“ I did.”   
_

_  
Pete’s form seemed more solid this time, like it was more confident about its purpose. It’s dark hair, so much like that of the clan was neat, straight, attractive.    
_

_  
Mikey watched the ghost of the water flowing along the streambed; even tiny spirit-trout flipped their tails lazily against the current. This was a mirror of the real world, in dreams.    
_

_  
“ It’s water.” He said. Not a question, Pete was free to correct him.   
_

_  
“ It’s life.” Pete replied. So much for that, now Mikey was only left with more questions.    
_

_  
“ I came.” Mikey pushed, Pete had not offered any conversation since he arrived and he knew he could only sustain the vision for so long before it became unbearable. The time that he could stand it was getting longer however, and he had laid down this time, perhaps against his better judgement. If he concentrated he could taste the bitter paste on his tongue, numbing the gums around his teeth.   
_

_  
Pete seemed to draw in a breath in imitation, an addition to form it currently wore. Nothing breathed here; the trout’s gills were still.    
_

_  
“ Your heart beats.” It said finally, “a rhythm.”    
_

_  
Mikey nodded, the sound echoed now around his consciousness, as though the mention of it brought the steady beat to his attention, interesting.    
_

_  
“ The rhythm is missing.” Pete continued. “There is no more beat.”    
_

_  
Mikey thought for a moment, the spirit world was not physical but born of sensations and feeling. The spirits here would have no use for a heart, despite the sacrifices some tribes in the north were said to make. He’d seen a knife they used once, and thrown up. All the same, he needed confirmation that he wasn’t being asked to make that choice.    
_

_  
“ You have no use for a heart.” He stated.    
_

_  
“ No.” Pete replied, almost as if amused by the suggestion. “We need the rhythm.”    
_

_  
Gently Mikey became aware that Pete was tapping one ethereal finger against its thigh, in perfect time to his heartbeat. In a rush Mikey saw images of dancers around a fire, and others beating time on wide drums, grinning wildly at one another. His vision lurched sickeningly to the right and he saw Bob, cross legged on the floor, pounding the skin stretched across a bowl as large as he was. There were others, keeping time together. When the images faded Mikey realised his heartbeat had quickened and he reeled from the adrenaline. Pete was wearing its jackal-smile, and Mikey realised the adrenaline was coming not from the vision but from the spirit itself. Somehow, it was channelling the sensation directly into Mikey.   
_

_  
“ We need the music.” Pete said.   
_

_  
“ You need the music.” Mikey replied beginning to understand.    
_

_  
Pete reached out a hand as Mikey turned to leave, his time already growing short.    
_

_  
“ There will be another.” It said, “another is coming.”   
_

_  
Mikey dared not ask whether it was a spirit or a person, he already felt too deep in this for comfort; he fled back to his body, heartbeat echoing around his mind.   
_


	3. Chapter 3

 

“ I kept the best for us!” Frank giggled. He turned out the sling and tumbled all kinds of berries onto the furs. “I trade the beets because I don’t like them much but these are just too good to give away.” He held out a strawberry to Bob and winked conspiratorially at him when he took it. “Now you know my secret you gotta swear to keep it!” He hissed. 

Bob shrugged. “Whatever.” 

He had seen men drunk with elation after a difficult or challenging hunt. He’d seen the quiet satisfaction his mother or Ray wore when they had completed a particularly fine example of their craft. He’d seen the children’s joy at discovering an ant’s nest with which to prank their parents, but nothing really compared to Frank eating strawberries. 

Each strawberry was chosen based, as far as Bob could work out, on colour and plumpness. Every time Frank bit down on one he would screw up his face in pleasure and grin oafishly at Bob. It was fascinating; the only time Bob had been near someone that looked that ecstatic there had been much less clothing and more...touching. He realised that he desperately wanted to be the reason Frank was making those faces, and those  noises . 

It was possible that abstaining was going to send Bob mad, in which case he’d be cast out of the tribe anyway. He decided that really, it couldn’t hurt to at least broach the subject. It was a long moment before he summoned the courage however. Facing down a charging bison, no problem, talking about kissing his best friend was slightly more daunting.

“ So, uh..” He began.  Great start , he thought,  what a hook . Frank looked at him quizzically and held out another strawberry. Bob took it, twirling it around in his fingers by the stalk. “There’s something I’ve been wondering about.” 

“ Mmmhmm?” Frank tried unsuccessfully to talk around his mouthful, making him chuckle.

“ Yeah..” Bob replied. He was getting distracted by the way the berries had stained Frank’s lips pink. Uh, in my tribe, there are partnerships...” His grasp of the language was making his decisions about how he should phrase things shaky. His stomach was doing back flips as a result. 

“ Partnerships?” Frank said, picking through the last bits of the pile of fruit.

“ Yeah, uh, the men and women of my tribe, they sometimes take more than one mate.” That was good, he could start there...

Frank looked up, interested. “You don’t have enough children?”

Bob shook his head, he had heard of tribes that boosted their numbers by allowing men more than one female partner and it was a good strategy. “No, sorry, that’s not what I meant. I mean that sometimes a woman will take another woman or a man will take a woman, and another man, it’s all pretty flexible.” He’d said it, no way to hide now. He drew his knees up to his chest and waited for Frank’s reaction. 

Frank licked his fingers clean of the sticky juice. “So people share their bed with anyone they find attractive?” 

Bob nodded; it was as good a way to describe it as any. “I’ve not seen any one do it here, I wondered...”

“ Have you?” Frank’s question cut him off.

Bob hadn’t been expecting the conversation to turn directly to him and it threw him slightly, he couldn’t judge Frank’s reaction and he was becoming sure he’d made a grave mistake, that the notion was taboo among this tribe.

“ I have...” Bob didn’t know how to explain his relationship with Jepha, even to his own tribe, so he let the sentence trail off. 

“ Is it different?” Frank asked, his attention all on Bob.

There was no revulsion at least, Bob figured Frank’s curiosity had been piqued. If he was going to do this, now was the time. “Yes and no.” Bob answered.  Masterful, bravo . He shook his head and tried again. “A woman’s touch can’t really be compared to a man’s; they’re different in ways I don’t have words to describe.” 

In retrospect Bob realised he should never have been surprised at Frank’s reaction. Frank would stick his finger in a bee’s nest to see if it was occupied, there was little that could faze him, certainly not social impropriety. Before Bob had gathered his thoughts enough to continue the tiny hunter was crowded into his space, rubbing strawberry juice off his face and grinning. “Show me.” He demanded. 

Bob could only agree. The smell of strawberries was thick and heavy in the air, on him, on the furs, on Frank. He wrapped his hands around Frank’s jaw line and kissed him deeply, tasting the sweet sticky fruit, relief and satisfaction washing through him. 

~**~

It wasn’t a difficult job, but somehow the crowded tent was very different than painting in the silence of Ray’s deserted dwelling.

Lindsey had insisted that Gerard paint her family’s tent. It was a little daunting, having them watch him work but every time a little drip of dye landed on his upturned face one of the children laughed. Pretty soon he was working around them, ducking under baskets and dodging Lindsey’s younger siblings as they made a game of distracting him. 

He repeated the patterns he had made in Ray’s tent, adding tiny figures inspired by the children along the edges of the border. Lindsey made him name them, pointing at each one in turn. Gerard began weaving stories around them as he worked, placing them in the roles of the myths and legends of their people. 

He was rewarded finally with hot stew and beaming praise from the whole family, especially Lindsey’s mother. Although Gerard suspected they were just pleased to see him working again, news of his slump had not taken long to reach the ears of every clansman, and possibly beyond.

Lindsey joined him when he returned to the stream to wash the dye from his skin. She told him stories in return for those he’d given her. She laughed as he ducked his head under the clear water and shook himself like an animal. She insisted again that he let her take care of his hands and Gerard wondered if this was what it was like to fall upwards into the stars. 

~**~ 

“ There was an earthquake.” The old man explained. “Malik was only an apprentice then and Jude was too superstitious. By the time Jude had passed the mantle to Malik the arts were lost.” 

Mikey nodded; there were dances at the summer meets with the clans that were dotted along the river from the delta below. All the tribes knew how to dance, but it seemed odd that no one had questioned why they never did it as a clan any more. 

Things were due to change, Mikey could feel Pete’s hand in it, but he was still not sure how best to begin. Bob was the key, but Mikey didn’t know if the vision Pete had instigated was truth, past or future. The other question still hanging over the issue is  why . There were all flavours of why. Why him, why now, why here...they were all questions he had no way of asking, not unless he wanted to sell his soul to the spirits entirely. A Shaman owned by anything other than himself was an abomination; he couldn’t let his curiosity rule him. 

He knew that dancing, making music wasn’t bad, or there would have been catastrophes at the summer clan meets, so Mikey had almost come to the decision to help Pete, but he felt adrift without knowing why the spirit needed it, why he had been contacted in the first place, why Pete was so desperate. 

Mikey thanked the old hunter and rose respectfully. He would see Pete, then Bob. Hopefully he would be rid of the entire issue soon, and his dreams could once again meander through nonsensical landscapes where no one wanted anything of him at all. 

As it happened it was Bob who found him first. Catching him lost in thought on his way back to the cave. He was deep in conversation with Frank, but he seemed excited. It was the most animated Mikey had ever seen him. 

Their greeting was cheerful, and Mikey was tempted to stay in the sun with them, but it was likely they were discussing hunting tactics or victories and Mikey had always felt out of place in that world. Instead he stopped by them for a moment and asked Bob about his tribe.

“ Have you ever drummed?” Mikey asked. At Bob’s confused expression Frank beat a brief rhythm on his thighs with his palms. Bob’s face lit up. 

“ I used to do that every night for my tribe!” He said, excited. “I wasn’t ever much good at dancing so my father taught me how.” 

Mikey sighed with relief. “Could you teach others? Can you make drums?” 

Bob nodded. “Yes, to both, if you can point me in the direction of a fallen tree I can make one whenever you like.” 

“ There’s one up by the meadow, on the edge of the trees before the path that leads up to the waterfall. They were going to make a canoe from it but it’s not long enough.” Frank said. 

“ Sounds perfect.” Bob replied. 

Mikey returned their farewells, surprised at how easily the request had fallen into place. It wasn’t until a few moments later that Mikey realised that Frank had slipped his hand into Bob’s as they took off. Frank tugging him up the path. 

~**~

The traveller watched a flock of geese flap their way overhead, honking their cries at each other until they disappeared over the line of the trees. He was certain Bob had come this way. Any further west and he’d have been in the mountains and he was sure Bob would not have crossed the great river without help. So far there had been few tribes along this stretch of the plains unless they were nomads. 

He decided to continue his current course; the tribe he had weathered the storm with had remembered Bob from before the winter. He had come this way originally. 

Ahead there was a rising line of hills, they looked a likely place for a permanent camp and there were apparently tribes dotted throughout them, if he had understood the gestures and drawings the hunters of the last clan had pressed on him. He hoped fervently that he would be able to stop soon; that he would find Bob and it would all be over. 

~**~

 _“ I can feel your curiosity rolling off you.” Pete said. Its teeth were white and sharp in the odd blue tinted light of the dream world. _

_ Mikey remained silent, thinking perhaps the spirit would rush to fill the void. He wasn’t disappointed.  _

_“ Your newcomer has agreed to help you.” Pete said. “I can feel it coming, like the rain.” _

_ Mikey nodded, he hoped he wasn’t putting Bob in danger with this folly. It seemed unlikely though, it wasn’t as though Bob would be walking the spirit paths as he was.  _

_“ Let me show you what we need.” Pete said suddenly, Mikey could sense a strange needy mischievousness coming from the spirit, it made him painfully curious. Mikey felt Pete’s focus shift, it was no longer absent minded and distracted by whatever it saw outside the dream world. It was entirely focused on Mikey and the realisation was terrible. Suddenly the Shaman was filled with the same feeling he had been experiencing from the beginning, when Pete first began to call to him. Only this time, so near the spirit and in its own world it was magnified beyond all imagining. He was delirious with desire to be near the spirit, to feel its power. _

_“ You have been here enough to cope with this.” Pete said, as though it were considering an experiment. It allowed Mikey to touch him, to feel the life force flowing over its form._

 _ Mikey couldn’t catch his breath, Pete’s attention; its energy flowed into every fibre of his body, every nerve ending and cell. He was awash with sensation and emotion. He felt sure he was glowing. He could feel every aspect of his body through the link into the spirit world. Never before had he been so aware of himself. _

_ Gradually Pete began to pulse a rhythm through Mikey’s form, the spirit version of himself. If Mikey concentrated he could feel the vibrations in his worldly body, in his private cave. Gradually his heartbeat began to mimic the beat Pete dictated and Mikey gasped. He could feel his blood pumping, pushed by his heart in a mirror of the beat and he could feel himself growing hard under the furs.  _

_ Pete seemed to notice after a few moments. “Ah,” it breathed, “you finally understand.”  _

_ Pete guided his attention through Mikey’s body, until his spirit form was as prone as his earthly one, and helpless in ecstasy under the spirit’s care. Pete steered the awareness from Mikey’s extremities to where his arousal beat most intense. There the spirit concentrated sensation around his cock and it throbbed with his heartbeat. Everywhere was Pete. _

_ Gradually the spirit increased the tempo, pushing sensations and images through Mikey’s body and mind and Mikey could feel reality slipping away from him as he climbed towards a climax. Along with the pulsing grip around him Pete was relaxing and contracting the sensations until Mikey could feel his earthly body stuttering his hips upwards, into nothing. Pete bent his head towards Mikey’s face and adrenaline and fear seeped into Mikey’s awareness along with almost unbearable pleasure as Pete’s lips met his in a misty, hazy mirror of a kiss.  _

_“ Our heartbeat...” Pete murmured into Mikey’s kiss, “Our heartbeat is the rhythm of the world.” _

_ Visions flashed through Mikey’s mind, dancers whirling in rapturous abandon, pounding the floor with their feet. He saw intimate couples of all kinds matching their own heated frantic rhythm with that of the drums and dancer’s hands reaching towards the sky, towards the spirits as they moved in time. _

_ Pete drove them ever onwards towards a crescendo, and Mikey could feel his body gasping for air as his mind went blank, processing only the white heat of Pete’s touch and the thumping of his heart. Mikey came against the furs panting and awake in his own body, his hands balled up fists.  _

He had pulled a muscle in his neck and everywhere ached. For long moments he lay silent in his cave, coming down from the intensity of the orgasm.

With a start he realised that although he was utterly in the world of the waking he could still feel Pete’s presence like a white line of fire. The revelation was equal parts thrilling and terrifying.

~**~

The tree was admittedly perfect. It lay across its own foundation where a storm some years ago had ripped it from the ground. Almost the entire trunk was intact, although beetles had been gnawing at the soft wood in the cracks the wood inside was likely to be as strong as it ever was. 

Frank and Ray looked at it appraisingly, at Bob’s signal they placed a shoulder against the trunk and shoved as hard as the three of them could, knocking it over onto the ground. The length of the shaft shuddered as it hit the ground and insects scuttled for the cover of the undergrowth, but the test had shown the wood was not rotten all the way through. 

Ray had come with some of the others the year before, to see if it was suitable for a canoe, but the vessel would only have been useable by a child and not worth so many people’s effort. It had disintegrated somewhat since then, probably thanks to the snow and the ground was thick with chips of bark and yellowed wood. 

Bob laid his head against the trunk and knocked sharply with his knuckles. “It’ll be good.” He called, “we just need to split it.” 

Ray had hauled his pack of heavier tools from the camp, including Brendon’s axe, which he had promised he would replace if it broke. The apprentice had made it larger and heavier than usual to be used during a competition of strength at the summer meet. As an experiment it had been quite successful and he’d been proud to see Brendon surrounded by other, more experienced knappers later, all asking about the tool.

It would be perfect for this, its larger size and weight meant that it was almost ideal for Bob, who had looked somewhat disparaged at the smaller, lighter axes Ray was used to making. Normally they were only used for taking down small birch saplings for frames. 

Bob heaved the axe over his shoulder and gestured for Frank to step back. As he took his first swing he stumbled, crashing suddenly and painfully sideways into the trunk, embedding the axe’s sharpest edge where it bit deeply into the wood. 

Frank was at his side in an instant, and Ray not far behind, but Bob seemed unscathed. He shook his head muggily and allowed Frank to haul him upright. 

“ Must have been my bad leg,” he said thickly, “help me get this out.”

It took Frank wiggling a smaller blade against the axe and Ray and Bob tugging sharply on the handle for it to come loose. They tumbled backwards into a heap and scrambled back even further when the trunk began to creak. Where the axe had buried itself in the softened wood a tear had appeared, gradually the trunk cracked and split like stone, until it fell apart into two perfect halves. 

“ Well...” Ray said after a moment. Frank’s shocked expression was a mirror of Bob’s. 

Bob looked fitfully from one half to the other. “Did you see...?” He muttered, reaching out tentatively to touch the nearest half. His expression grew fearful. “Spirits.” He said, and looked at the axe where it lay on the ground.

“ It looks like you could make two drums from this.” Ray said, running a palm along the near perfect edge. 

Frank looked from Bob’s terrified face to the trunk. “I think that’s the point.” He said quietly.

  


~**~

The camp was beginning to press in on Bob, making him claustrophobic. The incident with the tree made him edgy and nervous and he was snappish and irritable, even with Ray. 

Eventually he decided it was sensible to indulge in a time away from the rest of the clan. 

“ To watch the migration of the bison.” He explained patiently to Frank, who was not over keen on letting Bob out of his sight for a few days. 

“ We know how they migrate, we’ve told you.” Bob shrugged, indifferent. “Take me with you then.” Frank pressed, his tone unyielding and insistent. Bob nodded; he figured it would give them a chance to spend time together away from the inquisitive stares of the clan. Although no one had been unwelcoming towards their open affection for each other, they were a curiosity, a subject of much discussion and rumour. Bob despised being the centre of so much attention. 

Ray helped them pack a few essentials, since they would only be travelling a day or so away from the camp, and pressed a new spearhead into Frank’s hand as they approached the edge of the tent line. “You never know your luck,” he said with a wide grin, “bring us back another elk if you can!” 

The sun was warm on Bob’s back as they made their way down the wide slope towards the plains. Already, with Frank walking lightly beside him, he could feel the weight lifting from his shoulders. As the day wore on there was almost a little bounce in his step.

At sunset they halted some distance from the river’s banks where the grassland levelled out somewhat. While Bob wrestled with the travelling tent, cursing, Frank coaxed a fire into life. The sun’s heat was fading by the time they had set up the little lean-to camp and they were both glad of the warmth the blaze brought. 

Outside the circle of flickering light the fire spilled around them there was utter darkness. There was a certain tranquillity in the solitude that brought to Bob; he had always enjoyed settling down for the night in the same way while travelling and sitting out here in the puddle of firelight with Frank made him feel cocooned, safe. 

Tentatively he reached out to put an arm around Frank’s shoulders. Even after the last few days, where Frank had been content to curl up with him in the evenings or walk hand in hand, Bob was still afraid that Frank would reject his advances. His fears were abated however, when Frank leaned closer into his side and closed his eyes.

“ Maybe we should have camped nearer the river.” He said sleepily.

“ Why?”

“ I can’t hear the water.” Frank replied, yawning. 

“ That only ever makes me want to pee.” Bob said, his tone flat. Frank chuckled anyway. 

Bob could feel Frank’s pulse where his neck rested against his arm, it was strange to notice it, he reached up to stroke the smooth skin of Frank’s collarbone and felt him jump beneath his touch.

“ Sorry.” Bob said. He withdrew his hand and plucked at the grass, a little embarrassed. He hated how he felt constantly like a sapling child, a virgin. Frank wriggled away from him and Bob’s heart sank, sure he was to be berated for indecency or crossing a line. Frank’s expression was not one of irritation however, but something far more mischievous. He caught Bob’s hand in his own and tugged him upright, leading him towards the tent. 

They both had to crawl inside the cramped space, it was only a small frame with a specially sewn hide draped over the top to keep in warmth, not exactly on a par with their roomy and luxurious tent at the main camp. Bob found himself looming over Frank, who had squirmed onto his back, and he dipped his head to catch Frank in a deep kiss, their tongues dragging over each other’s lips. Suddenly every sense of impropriety vanished. In the darkness of the tent Bob’s hands travelled roughly and a little desperately over Frank’s body, while Frank slung his arms around his neck, keeping him close, their kisses persistent. 

Tugging off furs Bob finally pressed his naked form to Frank’s and heard him gasp as his erection pressed into Frank’s thigh. Murmuring reassurances into his ear Bob slid his hand across Frank’s soft belly and rubbed small circles on his palm with his free hand. Achingly slowly he lowered his hand to where Frank’s own hard cock rested gently against his belly. With a flood of arousal and relief Bob closed his fingers around the shaft and kissed Frank’s earlobe, listening to his breath hitch quietly as he began to stroke the length softly. 

He pressed in close to Frank’s body and increased his pace, letting Frank tip his head back and moan. Without a word, Bob shifted his position and folded up, letting the warm head of Frank’s cock pass over his lips and drag over his tongue. The noise it elicited from Frank turned Bob to jelly, his attentions turned a little frantic, pulling Frank into his mouth and sucking enough to cause resistance as he withdrew. Frank was panting roughly, and it took only a few minutes before he was tangling himself in Bob’s limbs, arching his back off the furs and flooding Bob’s mouth with salty stickiness. Bob skin was prickling with his own need for release, but he didn’t intrude on Frank’s need to rest, for a while nothing was spoken between them until Bob, almost drifting off to sleep felt Frank’s hand moving shy across his thighs. 

Quietly, without moving Bob watch Frank explore his body. Frank seemed to want to take his time, paying attention to every crease in Bob’s skin, every blemish and every scar. Eventually he traced his fingers up the shaft of Bob’s cock, making it twitch. He seemed reluctant to commit to anything intense so after as much gentle teasing as Bob could take he reached down to twine their fingers together. Gradually he helped Frank build up a rhythm that he could press his hips up into, and Frank kept it up when Bob let his hand slip from his grip. Like a wave Bob felt his climax hit him, and he grunted as Frank swiped his thumb over the head of his cock. He came apart into Frank’s hand, gasping for air. 

~**~

The dew soaked grasses of the plains were lush and green in the morning light. Behind him Bob could hear Frank snoring softly under his furs.  
Coaxing the small fire into spluttering life brought a measure of satisfaction. He blew gently on the wood sending a few sparks into the breeze. The smoke rose gently curling upwards, carried eastwards, towards the river.  
At first he thought the figure in the distance was a horse or a bison but as he watched it move across the plain and turn towards them he realised it was human. Whoever they were they were coming from the wrong direction to be from the clan. Bob slid his spear out from the strappings of his pack and used it to pull the entrance flap of the lean-to travelling tent aside.   
"Frank!" He called. "Someone's coming, wake up."

Frank's sleep-addled expression made Bob want nothing more than to curl back up in the warm furs with Frank but he pointed instead to the approaching stranger. Frank's expression grew concerned; evidently he had drawn the same conclusions as Bob. Wordlessly he tugged on his clothes and joined Bob by the fire. They waited for the stranger to come to them, whoever it was had clearly seen the fire.

They did not have long to wait.

Slowly the stranger drew closer and the hunters could see he was wrapped in furs, a hood drawn over his head. It was only when he stopped a few paces away and held out empty hands that they began to relax. The newcomer spoke in a language only basically familiar to Frank but Bob’s face lit up, he leapt to his feet and enveloped the traveller in an enormous bear hug. 

He turned to Frank, who was eyeing the stranger warily. 

“ This is Spencer!” Bob said, as the tall stranger pulled back his hood, revealing long scruffy blonde hair not so different from his own. “He is from my tribe, back along the river!” 

~**~

For most of his life Gerard had been described as a dreamer. When he and Mikey were children they would often be found shirking chores or lessons by the river, feet paddling in the shallows. He had always struggled to keep his concentration in check and he would often imagine distant adventures and spirit battles, wearing a far-off expression while one of the elders lectured him. 

Even so, it was hard for Gerard to miss the steady stream of excited clanfolk that hurried past him in twos and threes, talking excitedly. They were headed in the opposite direction to him, and after a moment of irritation battling against the flow he gave up and followed them.

Brendon joined him a few paces along the path but Gerard could only meet his raised eyebrows with a shrug, no one seemed to know what was going on. 

Their question was soon answered, as the crowd spread out and the two of them elbowed and jostled their way to the front, straining to see what the commotion was about. Bob was standing with Mikey, Frank a little way behind him, looking mildly pissed off. Beside them Mikey was talking with a stranger, a tall man with pale chestnut hair, who was dressed almost exactly how Bob had been when they found him. Every so often Bob said something to one of them, Mikey nodding as Bob spoke, after a moment it became clear that Bob was translating for the newcomer. 

“ Who is he?” Brendon whispered, as if Gerard would know. He put on an exaggerated expression of patience and spread his hands wide. “He is clearly an acquaintance of our northern friend.” He said, imitating their late shaman so well that Brendon giggled; trying to move closer to hear what was being said. 

Gerard sighed and grabbed Brendon’s elbow as he tugged him towards the small knot of people standing apart from the crowd. There were definitely benefits of being the Shaman’s brother. He tried to make himself unobtrusive as they squeezed into the circle but Brendon was too excited. Mikey looked irritated at Brendon’s too-loud greeting but Gerard didn’t think the newcomer would mind, it was hard not to notice that while Bob made the introductions to Spencer for everyone in the group the stranger’s eyes did not leave Brendon. 

~**~

Ray cursed as yet another flat nodule of flint broke apart in his hands. He could feel that his idea would work, but he couldn’t quite get the hang of striking the stone at exactly the right point to make the chisel he was imagining. When Bob had explained how he was going to make the drums, Spencer looking over his shoulder chatting excitedly in their tongue, with sporadic translations, Ray had gotten the idea for the chisel to gouge out the finer points of the wood. The axes had already done most of the work of hollowing out the trunk halves in much the same way as they made canoes, but Bob had explained that the sound of the drum would be better the smoother the inside. 

Brendon was sitting a little ways away from him, Spencer was beside him carving pegs to use in the drum’s construction since he and Bob were working on them together. There was a deeply unsettling sense of the supernatural about the whole thing, Ray had been extra careful to leave offerings for the spirits, especially after witnessing the cracking of the trunk into two perfect halves just days before Spencer arrived. There was little out of the ordinary about Bob’s clansman however, except for maybe his infatuation with Brendon. 

The two of them were chatting fairly ineffectually with each other, without understanding much of what the other was saying. Every so often a word would emerge in the other’s language and they would both grin oafishly at each other. For the most part however, they seemed to be developing their own strange systems of gestures and eyebrow waggling that meant a lot more was being said than it appeared. Brendon was showing him the basic techniques of tool cutting as they worked; Bob had once explained that as far as he knew there was quite a bit of difference between the techniques of the tribes. Spencer was a craftsman, not a hunter and he was taking much more of an interest in their work than Bob had ever done. Earlier that day he had watched Ray cut a basic knife for a child and gestured excitedly when Ray had make his first strikes in the flint. With Bob nowhere in sight however, the cause of the excitement was something of a mystery. Ray had been interested to watch him chip out a similar knife a little later, he had used a faster technique, but the resulting blade was heavier and thicker than his, it was an interesting approach and there were so many questions Ray wanted to ask. It would wait he knew, Spencer would be able to learn the language, just as Bob had. 

~**~

The moon was bright, its light was clear and cool over the hillside where the tribe had begun to gather. Bob had spent the morning dragging the drums to the correct place, without the help of Spencer who had conveniently disappeared. They now stood, painted with decorations by Gerard, the treated elkskin taught across the bowls. The area in front of the cave had been cleared and swept and the big bonfire lit hours before. The people of the tribe had been cooking in anticipation of the ceremony and had prepared a feast. The smells wafting across the encampment were making Bob’s stomach growl. He was looking forward to the ceremony if only for the food.

Gradually, members of the clan began to gather, sitting in groups on the ground. Ray and Frank, with Gerard in tow came to join Bob beside the drums, their chatter reminding him just how at home he was here with the hillside tribe. He even got a wave from Spencer when Brendon pulled him up to the bonfire, the two of them talking excitedly together only understanding snippets of what the other was saying. Eventually Spencer came to join them, looking sheepishly back at Brendon and grinning. 

It was well into the evening when Mikey eventually made his appearance, dressed head to toe in brightly beaded ceremonial robes. The tribe fell silent, awaiting his address. Mikey’s voice, never loud, was easily picked out in the hush. 

“ We have had amazing luck this season,” he began. “Thanks to Bob,” the tribe looked towards him as one, making Bob shy away, curling a little behind Frank, who shouldered him back into the fore. Mikey smiled and continued. “And now his friend too.” He gestured towards Spencer, who caught on that he was being referred to and blushed. 

“ I have been walking the world of the spirits.” Mikey said. “I have been looking for their blessing on the tribe and I have had visions that suggest an art the spirits once loved has been neglected.” The tribe whispered back and forth, clearly not sure what to make of this news. “We dance at the summer meets,” Mikey explained, “but some time in our clan’s past the practice was lost, stopped. We will tonight bright it back to the hillside, with Bob and Spencer, who have agreed to drum for us.” 

Bob practically dived behind his drum, eager to put something between himself and the attention of the crowd. Mikey chuckled, and turned back to the tribe. “We will pass on the luck the hunters have had so far by honouring the spirits tonight. We will honour the hunts made so far and bring luck for all those to come.” 

At his signal bob and Spencer began a steady beat on the skins. It had been a while since they had played together but starting slowly helped them build other patterns into their song. It came back as naturally as swimming to them both and it wasn’t long before they were following familiar tempos and interweaving beats that had them both sweating and grinning at one another. 

Gradually the tribe began to stand and dance, almost one at a time they rose and moved in time to the drumming, clapping and stomping as they got the hang of a repeated phrase. Eventually every tribe member around the fire was joining in, grinning and swinging each other around. 

~**~

Gerard was struck first by how familiar the beats seemed although he knew he had never heard them before. He watched his tribe succumb to the desire to dance and the abandon with which they took to it. They had never danced together as a tribe before and he knew it was something they had been sorely missing. 

Lindsey met his stares from across the flames of the bonfire, she had been dancing and was taking a rest, her hair was plastered to her face but her eyes were bright and fierce, and the look she gave Gerard was half defiance, half delight. She held his gaze as she panted, catching her breath. She reminded him very much of his grandmother, and was warmed a little by the realisation. Elena would have liked the woman Lindsey had grown into very much. He sidled around the edges of the bonfire until he reached her. She was waiting for him; before he could say a word she grabbed his hand and tugged him into the mass of bodies, laughing. 

~**~

 _ Mikey didn’t need to look to know Pete was with him. As surely as he could feel the earth beneath his feet he could sense the presence of the spirit behind him. It should have been a cause for concern that the bond between them had grown so strong that Pete could make his presence felt so strongly in the living domain, but Mikey drew only satisfaction and relief from it. They could only become closer this way. _

As Spencer and Bob played Mikey became aware of a third beat, weaving in and out of the pattern the two drummers were creating. After a few moments he realised it was mirroring the dancing of his tribe, but coming from Pete. 

He turned back towards the cave, he felt Pete receding slightly, but no fear of abandonment rose in Mikey, he knew exactly where to find the spirit. Just as Pete disappeared entirely a single phrase reached the shaman’s mind. 

“ Our heartbeat.” 


End file.
